Dream Catcher
by Kyoka-BOO
Summary: Fuji dreams of red. He wants Tezuka to be his dream catcher. [Written for Livejournal 30 deathfics]


**Fandom: **Prince of Tennis  
**Author: **MoonlitAffairs (Kyoka)  
**Title: **Dream catcher  
**Rating: **PG/PG-13-ish?  
**Characters: **Tezuka Kunimitsu, Fuji Shuusuke, Hamada Shiki [original, Hamada Gintarou [original  
**Pairings: **Slight TezukaxFuji  
**Warnings: **Character death-ish  
**Themes: **#25 Blood  
**Disclaimer: **Everything except my two original characters in this belongs to Konomi Takeshi. Thank you very much, Konomi Takeshi!  
**Summary: **Fuji dreams of red. He wants Tezuka to be his dream catcher.**  
**

((Kyoka just got her project requirement for that advanced English class that she will be starting. o.0 "Forestall summer brain atrophy. It is... long...))

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**Dream Catcher**

There were many things to witness in the world, both as a young man and a university graduate. Some foreigners looked upon Japan as boring. Before, there had been samurai warriors, and stealthy ninjas popularized by media. Now, though, outsiders might have seen it as a highly populated place that could only be obsessed with work and school.

That, however, was contrary to Fuji's thoughts. He grew up in Japan, and he witnessed what there was to see. No, it wasn't like things that had been made popular in the Western world, with fighting robots and modern-day samurai; it was a different kind of interesting. Fuji had never really said it, but he particularly liked his native country, save for the fact he rather favored Cajun food over many types of traditional food.

The type of "interesting" by Fuji's standards talked of a fast-paced society where the actions of a person could be predicted. Fuji made it a game for himself by watching the daily news and getting to know many people solely for the purpose of predicting what would happen next.

Tezuka, however, did not think this way. He only viewed the world as one thing.

Japan was a safe place, to say the least. There were problems, the occasional gas leak, a particularly disastrous train wreck once, and on occasion a murder. However, unlike in America, cities were not collections of danger, where one would have to worry about guns. After all, nobody carried loaded guns in Japan, that being his reasoning.

Perhaps it seemed to Tezuka that people didn't die.

It wasn't as if he hadn't experienced it before, just a few months ago, old age had taken Tezuka Kunikazu's life, and Tezuka had been at the wake and cremation to experience it, the idea of the death of his grandfather.

Maybe that was just some old, naïve reason breaking through his generally sensible manner. (If that's what you could call it, because Tezuka was not naïve, at least he thought that he hadn't.) Simply because... because of this, he had not expected a man named Hamada Gintarou to throw himself out in front of a train one cool September morning.

That standard shattered when one day, a companion whom Fuji had known (Tezuka knew him because Fuji had introduced the two once) committed suicide by throwing himself in front of a train. Tezuka stared for a moment. His stomach felt queasy. He didn't really like the feeling. A woman's cry broke him out of it. Trains were virtually impossible to stop that quickly, even when the conductor had taken notice A little ways away, the train halted to a stop, and Tezuka bit his tongue looking at what looked to be a massacre.Most of the remains were on the train, but blood was evident along the tracks.

Now he knew why the train companies charged the families fines if a family member threw themselves out on the tracks.

After he left work that way, deciding to walk for a while with his boss, Tezuka took a different way home, aside from his usual route. It wasn't the most efficient, and Tezuka soon found that it took a rather long time the way he took. By the time he got home, he was three hours late from the usual time. Two of those hours had been spent in the office, because his boss had stayed late and thus, Tezuka stayed late, too. The other hour had been spent finding his way home a different way. Truth be told, Tezuka had gotten lost once.

That day, Tezuka came home to find Fuji staring at a blank wall. That was right; they were sharing an apartment for the time being. It was perhaps untraditional; neither of them had wives, so they should still have been with their families. This proved to be an exception. Tezuka's work brought him to Kobe, and Fuji coincidentally followed him without explanation.

"It's late," he commented after giving the traditional greeting and removing his shoes. Fuji looked at him and smiled. Half of Tezuka expected that Fuji was going to reply with a twisted sort of sarcasm. He didn't. "Do you need me to make something for dinner?" asked Tezuka. He thought that Fuji had promised this morning. Fuji bit his thumb and slouched slightly at the table, bringing a frown to the other man's face. Tezuka realized there were no lights on in the apartment, and he immediately flicked the switch.

"No," Fuji's reply could only be described as pensive, almost wistful. "I got a phone call inviting me to Hamada-san's wake. Did you know that he threw himself in front of a train?" Fuji stood up slowly from his kneeling position, stepping away from the table. Sharp blue eyes were open, staring coolly at him. Tezuka wasn't able to tell, though, because they were shadowed when the man turned his face down.

The image that he had seen of earlier, when Hamada-san threw himself out in front of the train came back to him. Tezuka, for once felt slightly dizzy.

Small remnants of a smile made way on to his face. "Sad, isn't it?" Tezuka had always disliked how Fuji acted in just the presence of one person. Normally, he seemed to be fine. Memories of their junior high days, where Fuji was always the one to explain things to the first years came back to him. Fuji had, surprisingly been a lot lighter of a character back then. There was something different about this, though. Fuji treated Tezuka as if he was different, and Tezuka didn't like it. He wanted to tell Fuji to stop. Now Fuji twirled once around him, his steps falling softly in the other's direction. Tezuka said naught about how he had saw Fuji's friend chose to die, right before his and two hundred other peoples' eyes.

His thoughts were that this wake was rather quick; after all, this man had only died about that morning.

"You see, as it turns out, Shiki-san knew that he was going to, because he left her a note a week ago. She said she couldn't bear to stop him, though, because he was so set on it. She had plenty of time to plan an honorable funeral. 'Everything for my beloved Gintarou-koi,' she said." Hamada Shiki-san was the woman married to Hamada Gintarou-san. When Fuji spoke of her, his voice grew to a soft low whisper, but grew into a slow crescendo when he repeated what she had told him over the phone.

"Doesn't that make you sad?" Fuji danced closer to him, brushing his shirtsleeve.

"Fuji, if anything is bothering you, just talk. Don't toy with things." There was a firm reprimand in that. Fuji didn't flinch, but approached closer. It was at these times that he wished Fuji really knew the definition of "personal space" or maybe even the term "personal bubble." Fingers contacted under his chin, and Tezuka's eyes remained fixedly ahead.

"I'm sorry, Tezuka."

"Don't be. I'm going to make dinner." His voice took on a slightly warmer quality. With a little tug, he freed his arm from Fuji's grip and went over to heat some water for tea. "Are you hungry for anything in particular? You must be hungry; it's late."

"You're so cordial, Tezuka." There was no response to that, but a slight grunt when Tezuka cut his finger slightly while chopping up some vegetables. There wasn't much in the house. There was soba, but no sauce or soup to go with it. They could make miso soup, but it was the last of it and Tezuka wanted to save it for the morning. There was white rice, and Tezuka guessed they had a little egg to go with it… otherwise, there was nothing. It was the last of the vegetables; there was no tofu… there was nothing.

Tezuka paused, trying to get the bloody images out of his mind.

Well, Fuji dug out two servings of ramen from what was probably a secret stash. He handed them to Tezuka wordlessly, and Tezuka wondered how old it was. It wasn't his complaint, though. Ramen made for a cheap, quick meal. [Though considering this was store-bought, it wasn't all that healthy.

For goodness sake, he didn't even know where the good chopsticks were. They had, strangely enough, a few extra packets of the disposable restaurant chopsticks. His mother would have fit at the meal, he thought to himself. She would say it wasn't proper. However, when he sat at the table and looked over at Fuji, it didn't seem as if he minded too much. "Itadakimasu,"

They ate in silence for the most part. Well, at least Tezuka ate. However, when he was finishing up the last bit of noodle, he paused in brining it up to his mouth. Fuji hadn't touched a thing. Tezuka didn't know why. It was rude, first and foremost, but Fuji was never really one to turn down a meal. Maybe it was just because they had no wasabi to put onto the ramen, he thought to himself. Fuji had such strange tastes.

Fuji was acting strangely, and it was not in the manner of strange that he should have been acting.

Really, Tezuka could understand that one of Fuji's colleagues had just died, but he just couldn't place why Fuji was acting unlike his normal self, and wasn't touching his food. A minute later, his worries seemed to be rectified when Fuji picked up the pair of chopsticks, broke them, and murmured his silent phrase of gratitude before eating the food quickly and soon enough whisking away the dishes and trash, moving too quickly for Tezuka's eyes.

"I thought you weren't going to eat," Tezuka said pointedly a minute later. Fuji had sat back down at the table with his eyes pleasantly closed and his hands folded neatly in his lap. Tezuka wondered if that lovely smile that was so characteristic of Fuji would ever waiver.

"Of course not, Tezuka. It would be rude not to eat the food you prepared for me, especially since I was the one who was supposed to make our meal tonight. I do thank you. You have my gratitude." There was a pause for a minute, and Fuji frowned. "If I am doing things to trouble you, please tell me. There's something bothering you, and it's about me… I know." His voice was bittersweet, poisonous. "Tezuka, what would that be?"

"It's nothing of consequence. Tezuka stood and averted his eyes; until he felt strong fingers latch on to his sleeve. He raised his head slightly and caught sight of clear blue eyes, holding nothing back. There was a strange emotion in them, but Tezuka would never be able to figure such a thing out. He was no mind reader. He wasn't even good at fully understanding his own emotions. Thus, he kept them under tight, restrained control. He could never let them lash out.

"Tell me," The soft breath bid him to comply, and his lips were only centimeters away from Tezuka's. All too hurriedly, he pushed Fuji away, being able to summon up the strength even when he pushed with only the tips of his fingers.

"Fuji, if this is about Hamada-san, let it out." His hand gripped Fuji's arm gently, and he realized that the person who people had once called "prodigy" was trembling.

"Tezuka has always been like that," Fuji replied gently. There was a slightly slump in the way he walked, and he went over to the small television set in the kitchen and turned it on. Initially, Tezuka had never wanted one of them; he found them pointless and distracting. Fuji said that he found it amusing.

Tezuka could never really be sure if Fuji was here during the day to watch those pointless quiz shows like he said he did. He was living with Fuji, but he knew little about what he did, or if he even did anything. Fuji seemed to have inherited some sort of fund. All he knew is that Fuji bought the groceries and Tezuka paid the rent. That was how things worked around here.

For one who loved spicy foods so much, it was surprising that he bought foods that usually complied with Tezuka's tastes (and stomach). That Cajun food he saw Fuji eat sometimes… he knew that it wasn't half as spicy as some Japanese dishes, but he still couldn't see how Fuji could stand something that made Tezuka's eyes water when he stood within a three-foot radius of it.

Fuji plopped down on the one piece of western furniture they had chosen to purchase for the tiny apartment. It was a sofa that they had some how magically found at the pawnshop, old, yet comfy.

Their apartment bordered on the lines of pretty traditional, and Tezuka mentioned it. "It's late, and I have work in the morning. I'll be setting up the futons soon." They had a toilet and a traditional bath. Other than that one room, the rest of their apartment made up the rest. Fuji and Tezuka stored their clothes in opposite closets built into the walls. Their kitchen table, traditionally low to the ground was moved aside at night in place of the traditional beds on which they slept. Aside from a few pictures around the apartment, the only thing that really seemed to adorn the apartment was the couch, pushed off to the very corner of the apartment.

So the set-up for the nighttime went like usual, with Fuji standing up to help him move the table over and place the futons on the floor while he was watching a show with a very zealous half-Spanish man giving directions on how to make some sort of concoction.

Everything was going normally until later, when Tezuka strode from the bathroom clad in his pajama. Arms encircled behind him, and Fuji's face pressed into his back. Even through the fabric of his pajama shirt, he could feel Fuji's warm breath. It made the hairs on his neck stand up, just slightly.

"Fuji let go." Sometimes he had to tell Fuji to do that, because he was strange at times. This time, it was stranger. Fuji's arms tightened around him, squeezing almost a little too tight for comfort, pushing the breath from Tezuka's lungs. For once, Fuji never made a comment on what he said. That was a pretty rare occurrence.

Things were pretty serious, he guessed, but when he felt Fuji pulling him down to the ground, he felt confusion as they both hit the wood floor with a slightly loud thud. "Fuji!" Now, Fuji's grip was loose enough and he could move so that _he_ was able to grab _Fuji's_ arm. "What is wrong?" Tezuka wasn't one to pry, but there was something bothering his roommate, and he had to snap Fuji out of it.

"The blood," he suddenly staggered out. Tezuka could only raise an eyebrow. Fuji looked like he was ready to have a sort of seizure. However, this wasn't just any normal seizure. His eyes were clouded with something, that same, unrecognizable emotion that he saw earlier.Fuji's voice was weak, and his lips were gaping, like a fish out of water, almost.

A memory came to him, of when Fuji rented a foreign film called "Titanic" and had forced Tezuka to watch it with him one Saturday evening. Fuji had that same look in his eye while a young girl called out about something. Tezuka couldn't remember what. He hadn't paid attention. Besides, he thought that only girls were supposed to like such a thing. Fuji seemed to rather like it, though, as much as he liked wasabi or, god forbid, Inui's vegetable drinks.

"I knew Hamada-san was going to die," he said. "And I know you were right there when it happened. It was this morning, wasn't it?" Tezuka paused; he wanted to ask something along the lines of _how did you know?_

"I've been having these dreams, Tezuka." Suddenly, Tezuka cut him off, pushing his hand away from him when Fuji tried to touch his shoulder. "I see blood in them. I saw Hamada-san's. I saw yours; you died, Tezuka." Fuji was trembling now. Tezuka might have accused him of lying, but… but Fuji was so utterly scared by this. "I saw me, too; I killed you. Then… A-A gun…" Tezuka stopped him.

"Don't worry about it, Fuji." This time, he was the one to move closer to the other, kissing him slowly on the neck. He heard a sharp intake of breath, and Fuji clenched his fists, as if the sudden, feather-like touch had hurt him. Tezuka moved fully away. "What you saw is coincidence. The dreams will be gone soon."

"I hope so, Tezuka."

There was a silence between them, again.

"Tezuka?" His voice was sudden, as if panicked. Tezuka only pushed the glasses further up the bridge of his nose.

"Hm?"

Suddenly, Fuji calmed down.

"It… It's nothing… Goodnight, Tezuka."

"Goodnight, Fuji."

Fuji pulled the covers on his own bed up to his ears, took a deep breath, and closed his eyes. He really hoped that he had been speaking of coincidences, like Tezuka assured.

That blood red that haunted his eyes…

It suffocated…

Whenever he tried to escape it, though, it came back in the form of dreams, and he would squirm. He would scream. Even when he did, though, he was helpless, helpless to watch Tezuka's death over and over again like a broken television screen.

A few minutes after Tezuka fell asleep, Fuji decided to move over next to Tezuka. He brought all the blankets and the mat with him. His head lay next to Tezuka, and he realized that the sheer, tranquil nature of the man set him at ease. For a fraction of a second, he lifted his chin, and then set his head right next to Tezuka's.

He hoped that Tezuka would be his dream catcher.

Forever stained in red…

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Author's Note: This is going to have a companion fic to it, two, in fact. I'll be writing those... Please review ((Tezuka and Fuji didn't die in this one!)) 


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